Divided We're Falling
by sithmarauder
Summary: Futuristic WWIII.  Multiple pairings.  'It was hardly surprising when formerly-neutral Switzerland had invited him to Zurich, his country's new unofficial capital, and asked if he would marry him, "purely for political reasons, of course."' SwissAus.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Divided We're Falling**

**Author: sithmarauder**

**Pairing(s): Switzerland/Austria, France/England, and America/Canada; mentioned past Austria/Hungary and Spain/Austria.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, _mes amis._**

**Beta: AWOL. I apologize for anything I might have missed.  
**

**Mind Prompt: Brooding. Rated M because I'm paranoid, and because some content may be of a disturbing nature.  
**

What started out as something small erupted into something much bigger, and for that I apologize. This was originally just a one-shot, but before I knew it I had over five-thousand words, and I just decided it would be easier to break it off into two or three chapters. I will also be writing a small spin-off later on, from Canada's POV. Or as close to that as I can get while writing in third person.

Now, my school has started up (how fun), so I will be slower to update because high school is a BITCH and you get homework on the first day in my school.

This is a purely AU-world. Third World War-esque. New alliances. OOC-ness in the face of, well, the USA.

Also, this wasn't at all what I had originally planned. For one, I hadn't meant for it to be this long, nor had I originally intended the… twisted America/Canada you'll see later on. I really do think that America has a lurking dark side to him. Still, I hope you all enjoy it well enough (:

1/?

-x-

It hadn't been a romantic proposal, nor had it been long in coming, or planed out. In fact, the act itself had been rather impromptu, its reason spawned by the ever-growing threat of an oncoming US invasion.

When he looked back at it, it made him cringe. He had just seemed so… harmless. Yet they had all known what lurked behind that boyish, naïve exterior. The fact that he had acted so quickly, however, was something none of them had been prepared for.

But that didn't change the fact that Alfred F. Jones, more commonly known and referred to as America or the USA, had surprised them all by joining forces with Russia, created a deadly alliance that had only been crushing in its victory over the unprepared European (and non-European) countries.

God, he still remembered the looks on everyone's faces when they realized what had been happening… what had happened…

Canada had been the first to fall prey to an attack. America's neighboring country and brother, the nation famed for its peacekeeping and maple syrup had been overwhelmed by an onslaught of American and Russian soldiers. He had only survived because France, acting quicker than any had thought possible, had rushed his own soldiers overseas in an effort to defend his former colony. He had quickly been joined by England, as Canada was still officially part of the Commonwealth of Nations, and together they had managed to fend off America long enough for Canada to rally his own defenses.

But in their haste, they had forgotten Russia. And as the large country had proven once again, forgetting him was a mistake that resulted in tragedy. Using his own armies and that of Lithuania, Latvia, and India, he had invaded and defeated China in a quick and bloody battle, similar to the Battle of Abraham. Soon after, Japan had fallen, followed by Finland and Sweden, who had surrendered in order to protect his "wife."

Overseas, Mexico had surrendered without fight, strengthening Alfred's forces as he continued to struggle with Canada for domination over North America—a battle the world's second largest country was slowly loosing to the American.

Because of this, France and England's forces were being stretched thin, as Russia turned his attention to what remained of the Allies, along with Germany and Austria.

In late 2010, the world's nuclear weapons had been disabled due to increasing unrest among the civilians, and concerns from geologists, environmentalists, and other scientists worldwide. Because of this, they had all reverted to the brutal warfare last seen over sixty years ago, and every day the nations returned to their meeting room even more battered than they had been before. But they were loosing. Slowly but surely, they were loosing.

Which was why he was here now.

It was hardly surprising when formerly-neutral Switzerland had invited him to Zurich, his country's new unofficial capital, and asked if he would marry him, "purely for political reasons, of course."

Not even batting an eyelash, Austria had replied with a cool "yes." After all, Switzerland was rumoured to have one of the largest and strongest armies, much to the surprise of the world, and Russia would be after him soon enough. It was a choice between the large nation, and the temporary help Austria and the others could offer. Neutrality was not an option. Not even a week after that, he had found himself walking to a large stone church, strangely hidden in the Swiss Alps, with Germany on his right and Hungary on his left.

His former wife was looking tired—bags, not unlike his own, could be seen under her eyes, which were dull, not the vibrant green he had been in love with so long ago. Still, she gave him a comforting smile when she saw him glance over at her, and she placed a small hand on his forearm.

"It'll be fine," she whispered, turning her head to look straight. But he still caught the look of brief pain that flickered across her face, and the way she stumbled more and more over the rocky terrain.

Pulling his jacket firmly around his shoulders, Austria closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, not opening them until he heard Germany's low voice murmur to someone on the other side of the large, intimidating-looking wooden double-door that marked the entrance to the ancient chapel.

"Ah, yes, we're… we're all waiting inside." The soft hush of falling snow wasn't enough to drown out Canada's voice as the doors creaked open, which Hungary used as an unofficial cue to shove Austria inside and drag Germany after them.

Canada looked awful. He wore his aviator's outfit, but it looked nearly as worn as its owner, and was not enough to obscure the scrapes and bruises covering the northern nation's face. Austria knew that, however bad that was, what the outfit was covering was a thousand times worse.

Canada gave them all a hesitant smile, light lavender eyes flickering back and forth. Austria felt Hungary softly take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Finally the Canadian nodded his head, as if satisfied with something, and he quietly pointed to another wooden door ahead of him, which opened when Germany gave it a slight push.

"Germany!" North Italy called from inside the chapel itself, but even he was sounding tired, his usual enthusiasm gone as he rushed over to hug the blue-eyed nation. "Come sit, Germany! Ve~ Romano and I decorated the whole place!"

Romano was here, too? Austria exhaled then, forcing himself not to close his eyes. He hadn't even heard South Italy insult Germany yet. It was both a relief and another worry to add to the pile.

The violet-eyed nation turned his head to look it the room, and he almost smiled. It was so… normal looking. A red carpet extended over the dank, dark stone to an altar a few steps up, with wooden benches on either side and a stand at the front, where he knew would rest a contract, which both he and Switzerland would have to sign in order to make the alliance final.

But it was the edelweiss flowers that adorned the benches that finally made the Austrian smile.

North Italy looked at him, smiling brightly, though it again lacked his usual enthusiasm. "You like it!" He crowed happily, amber eyes glistening lightly. "Switzerland liked it, too."

He wasn't surprised that Switzerland was already here. It was his country, after all. He was only surprised that the blonde man hadn't shown himself before this point.

His expression must have reflected this, for England, who had just come from a small door to the left, gave him a small frown.

"It isn't proper for the groom to see his bride before the ceremony, so I made Switzerland wait in his room."

Austria could feel the blush spreading across his cheeks. So he was the woman once again.

Austria winced lightly as Hungary gave him a gentle tug towards a door leading to the right, the long gash running from the inside of his left wrist all the way to his shoulder a constant reminder of the new threats they were facing now. It had been given to him when he and Germany had arrived to help Poland fend off both Belarus and the Ukraine. Belarus' alliance with Russia had come as no surprise, but Canada had reacted badly when he had learned that Ukraine had joined her tyrannical brother as well.

The hallway was small. After passing through the first door, Hungary had veered sharply to the left, opening another door and quietly making her way up a small set of spiral stairs. At the top was yet another doorway, which led to a small area that had been revamped into a dressing room. A vanity stood to his right in the circular chamber, and to the left was a dressing screen and a wooden wardrobe, molding with age.

"You have it on under your coat?" Hungary asked, lighting a candle and placing it on a table. Austria nodded and removed the blue winter jacket, revealing the white, blue-collared (and cuffed) suit with the gold trimming. Hungary smiled at him, some of her old vigor returning.

"I can't believe it took Russia and America to get you two together," she teased lightly, and Austria almost groaned as he saw the camera she had managed to conceal under her own white winter coat.

"Hungary…"

"Hush!" Hungary placed a finger against his lips as a new figure filled the doorway.

"Ah, _L'Autriche_, if I didn't already belong heart and soul to my beloved _Angleterre_, I'd marry you on the spot," France said as he stepped in, right before getting elbowed in the side by England, who had apparently been standing just behind him.

"Bloody stupid frog—"

"I fail to see why you are angry, _Sourcils_; I am yours, am I not?" France teased before dipping down to kiss the green-eyed nation's nose, earning a rather amusing squeak from said nation. England then proceeded to glare at his husband-slash-former-enemy before he turned his attention to Austria.

"Poland is almost here, and Spain arrived a few moments ago. We don't have much time. America is relentless in his quest to conquer Canada, and Matthew is feeling it badly."

"My poor _Mathieu,_" France said softly. "He is too young to have to go through this again."

Austria was beginning to feel a tad bit crowded in the small room, but he nodded his head. Hearing Canada's name was a comforting thing: it meant that they weren't just lands for the taking, but living, breathing, and previously thriving beings. They had identities as well.

Francis Bonnefoy. Arthur Kirkland. Elizabeta Héderváry. Feliciano Vargas. Lovino (Romano) Vargas. Matthew Williams. Ludwig. Vash Zwingli. Roderich Edelstein. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Feliks Łukasiewicz.

They were people, too. All of them. They felt pain, and they felt sorrow. They could _feel_, even if other people assumed they could not. And he knew that America and Russia were feeling it as well.

"E-Excuse me? Mr. England? Mr. France? Ms. Hungary? We're ready for you downstairs," came the soft, lilting voice of Liechtenstein, who was shyly looking around England at the others in the room. She smiled when she saw Austria. "Mr. Austria," she greeted before turning and walking down the stairs, back to the main chapel.

"We shouldn't be late," England muttered as he looked at his watch. "We can't afford delays now."

France, for once, didn't say anything, instead shooting the shorter nation an unreadable look. He sighed. "All right, _Angleterre_; let us go. We will meet you all down there, _oui_?" Then the two of them were gone, and the room was once again filled with only Austria and Hungary.

"You're ready?" Hungary asked, reaching up to try and tame Mariazell, only to frown when it sprang back into place. "Even now…" he caught her saying as her hands fell back down to her side.

Austria caught her wrist. "Thank you. For everything you've ever done for me."

Hungary smiled, giving him a nod. "What are friends for?" She asked. "Now we have to go. They'll all be waiting for us."

As they walked from the room, Austria felt his back stiffen as his usual mask fall into place—that of an aristocrat.

"Like, watch where you're going! You, like, totally almost knocked me over!" An indignant voice proclaimed, and Austria suppressed a smile as Poland shook the offending snow from his jacket. "Like, seriously," the man grumbled before looking up. "… You're getting married in _that_? You're totally the woman—why aren't you wearing a dress?"

Austria gaped at him before sputtering something inarticulate, finally falling silent as his face heated up. Poland gave him a critical look before shrugging and flouncing passed them into the chapel.

Hungary turned to follow, but Austria remained still.

"Please, wait a moment," he said before turning to the large doors for the church. Pushing them open, the Austrian stepped into the snow, which whirled around him like a spirit. Then, looking up to the sky, the Austrian smiled, lightly extending one hand to catch a snowflake. It was cliché, but he didn't care; at that moment, he felt freer than he had in a long time, like he could spread wings and fly away from the war that plagued the world they lived in. Closing his eyes, he felt snowflakes settle on his face like gentle, fleeting kisses as they weaved their magic on the mountains of the alps, turning gray into the brightest of white.

He knew what white meant: chastity, purity, and innocence; when worn by a woman, it used to mean that they were unspoiled—clean.

Austria knew he was no more innocent than France. Spain, Hungary… Switzerland… Vash… Austria lowered his arms. His childhood friend, whom had taken care of him when he could not; who had picked him up when he had fallen (numerous times), brought him back… How could he not summon some affection, even a form of love, for the man? Even when they had grown apart, and conversations turned awkward, he had never forgotten, and never truly summoned the hostility he otherwise would have.

Turning around, as he had began to shiver lightly, Austria moved back to the still-open doorway, where Hungary stood watching. But for a moment, he swore he could have seen a flash of green from just behind her, and a shifting of the second set of doors.

"You're finished?"

"Yes," Austria said, shivering lightly as Hungary tsked and brushed the snow off his white overcoat.

"What would we have done if you had ruined your outfit?" She chided, but he could see she was secretly amused by the little snow escapade. "Now come on—I doubt it's much warmer in here than it is out there, and everyone's waiting for you."

Austria nodded, letting the cold reform the aloof façade as the female nation lightly pushed the second set of large doors open.

There was no music. How could there be? Anything of value was gone—taken to a safer place. And yet, it felt… right. Music was too normal, and too out of place for what was happening here. It wouldn't have made him feel comfortable: it would have filled the room with a sense of wrongness, making everyone shift in their seats as they struggled hard to pretend that this _was _customary. And then when they returned to the outside world to realize that the war was still ongoing—that they were all weakening by the second—it would be like a cold bucket of water being dumped on their heads, waking everyone up to reality.

And none of them wanted that.

Austria looked into the faces of the gathered nations. He saw Germany, stiff and formal, his head giving a minute nod as he caught Austria's eye; he saw North Italy, sitting next to Germany, his amber eyes sparkling again, but free of their usual haze; South Italy, a tired Spain resting on his shoulders, giving him a grudging nod of his own as Spain gave him that _smile_; Poland, muttering about his choice in outfit; Canada, looking even more beaten than before, summoning a look of encouragement over the permanent wrinkle of pain that had formed; France, grinning as he put his arm around England, who was grumbling under his breath; Hungary, walking beside him with a serene expression on her face, happy for her friend… and her camera; Switzerland, standing at the altar, his hands clasped stiffly behind his back, Liechtenstein politely at his side. The Swiss nation, dressed in the green outfit he had been wearing when they had run into each other in the supermarket, all those years ago, refused to meet Austria's eyes, choosing to direct them at the contract that lay before them on the wooden stand instead.

Germany stood then, making his way towards them, acting as a type of priest, for old time's sake. His words flew right over Austria's head as he reached down to sign his country's name in an elegant script, right next to Switzerland's signature. As soon as he put the pen down, he felt Switzerland grab his hand, sliding a simple gold band onto his finger. Austria then returned the favour, Switzerland still not looking at him as they finished the mechanical exchange.

More words were said—words which neither nation listened to, before he could feel Germany looking at them closely. "You may now kiss the bride."

Austria, who had turned to look down the room at the doors, suddenly felt hands at his chin, gently turning his head, where surprised violet met determined emerald.

"Switzerland—"

"You have snowflakes on your eyelashes," came the other's distracted and gruff reply, and before the Austrian could formulate a proper response, Switzerland's lips were upon his, demanding and patient and gentle all at once as he waited for the stunned nation to respond, which he did after a few seconds, letting his eyes flutter shut. He could feel surprisingly tender fingertips brushing the supposed flakes from his lashes, making his breath hitch.

Drawing away, Austria gave Switzerland a slightly dazed and confused look. Switzerland merely gave him a level stare, but there was a spark in his eyes, revealing promises and expectations, rewards and challenges.

The seated nations stood, clapping their hands as both Switzerland and Austria turned to look at them, Switzerland frowning lightly, as if he was wondering why they were here, and Austria trying to suppress another light blush.

Liechtenstein, however, was the most puzzling of all. She crossed the altar, her eyes serious, before looking up at Austria. "Thank you," she merely said before descending the stairs to join the other guests, where she proceeded help Canada, who was swaying lightly on his feet, eyes squeezed shut behind his glasses.

It wasn't until Canada gave a sudden exclamation of pain and all but fell into Liechtenstein, however, that the others ceased their clapping and glanced towards the door, which had been thrown open to allow a cold gust of wind in.

Standing in the entry arc was a young man in a torn bomber jacket, sandy hair and glasses, beside a threateningly tall male with a long tan coat and scarf around his neck.

"Nice of you to invite us," America said, looking up, his blue eyes flashing lightly. Beside him, Russia gave them all a cold smile, which caused France to cringe and grip England's arm tightly as the supporting country glared back with untold amounts of anger and betrayal swimming in his eyes.

"Leave, America; this does not concern the likes of you!" Switzerland shouted. Now the same height as Austria, he had wrapped a possessive arm around his new husband's waist.

"That is so mean," America whined, blue eyes sparking. "I thought we were friends, Switzerland."

"Da, friends," came Russia's laced voice, slightly muffled by the scarf. "You did not invite such good friends to your wedding?"

America just laughed, turning his attention away from the other countries and focusing it entirely upon Canada, whose breathing had quickened. Liechtenstein stood at the northern country's side, holding him up, even as America reached out and jerked the Canadian's chin up, possessing none of the gentleness that Switzerland had used on Austria less than five minutes previous.

"You're weakening, Mattie," the American murmured. "And soon not even dear Francis or Arthur will be able to save you." He then crushed their lips together, relishing in the pained mewl that erupted from Canada's throat as he bit down on the other's lip.

A sudden series of two gunshots made America stagger back quickly, turning to where England held a smoking pistol, along with Switzerland. Austria had narrowed his eyes, and the other guests were beginning to react, making Russia laughed sadistically and America grin.

"I'll be the hero, Mattie, just wait and see," was the last thing the once-Ally said before both he and Russia vanished into the snow, not even seeing Canada as he slumped to the ground, only to be quickly surrounded by France and England as Switzerland jerked and pulled Austria off the altar, out of the church and into the snow, calling for Liechtenstein and leaving the others behind as he did so.


	2. Chapter 2

_First off, I would like to thank everyone who sent me PMs about this story. There was more than one, and the response, even three years later_ (especially_ three years later)_,_ completely floored me, and it's what eventually prompted me to continue this, though I've come to regret the idea behind this, simply because it has the potential to offend so many people, and also because I was really stupid three years ago and clearly did not think half the stuff I put in the first chapter through._

_So, I'd like to apologise for any offences caused ahead of time, and thank you all, once again, for voicing your support and for taking the time to send messages asking about the story and just the amazing amount of positive feedback this weird little thing has received._

_I've become exponentially shitty at writing from Austria's point of view (although I think I've always been terrible at it. It's much easier to writer as Liechtenstein or even Switzerland himself), and I'm also sorry about that, and I'm not sure what direction this story is headed in, but hopefully I'll think of something while mindlessly churning out scenes._

_This chapter contains ideologically sensitive material, too much introspective thought (woes; how do write normally?), mentions of past Hungry/Austria and implied past Prussia/Austria, and includes mentions of past character death._

* * *

_**Divided We're Falling – Chapter 2**_

The house was dark when they entered, the elaborate halls still and unlit as a safety precaution. The air raids hadn't happened yet, not here, but they weren't stupid enough to think that would last forever, from either end. Even now the heads of Austria's government were struggling with pulling together the country's every resources, and Austria felt their frustration like a pulsing headache, always there, just beneath the surface. He did not have long to reflect, however, as Switzerland was quick to get Austria and Liechtenstein inside, closing the door behind him with crisp movements that spoke more than any expression or words could.

"The rooms haven't changed," he said simply, and Austria felt a faint stab of irritation at the brusque tone, though he forced himself to remember that Switzerland was likely as stressed as he—and besides, this was a marriage of convenience; he would do little expecting anything like his marriage with Hungary.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Liechtenstein shake her head, but when he turned to face her she merely smiled, hands clasped in front of her, and how she managed to look so innocent in a military uniform Austria did not know.

"I will show you, Mister Austria. Brother has changed some things, and I don't know what you remember." Her voice was soft, like her eyes, and she waited to make sure he had heard before turning and walking down the lonely hallways, devoid of life save for the two of them. Switzerland had vanished into the darkness almost immediately after speaking, and the only thing that allowed Austria to see the tiled floors in front of him was the candelabrum in Liechtenstein's hands, and the steady sound of her boots as she walked.

It had been years since he had been here. Not since his falling out with Switzerland centuries ago had they stood in each other's homes, and they had barely spoken to each other save for the few strained words that passed whenever they ran into each other. It was only Liechtenstein's strange affection and curiosity towards Austria that made Switzerland tolerate him these days, though now… now they really did not have a choice, did they?

_So be it_, Austria thought quietly as Liechtenstein stopped in front of a set of doors—almost carelessly elegant, as everything in Switzerland's house was, he supposed, despite the man's frugality. He could vaguely see the soft, light yellow-brown of the wood, and the simple quadrilateral design covered in gold leafing on each wall panel, old and unchanged, but well maintained, though he was quick to turn his head back to Liechtenstein when she pushed the door open, handing him the candle as he walked into the dark room.

"Brother will be around the house somewhere," she told him, but her voice drifted to him as if in a dream, and he barely heard it, moving further into the room with the stiff-backed posture Prussia had always—

Austria stopped, his grip tightening on the candelabrum, closing his eyes against the rush of memories even as he fought to push the picture of pain-filled red eyes from his mind as Prussia fell for the final time, coughing his bloody defiance to Russia as Austria and Germany retreated, his death covering their tracks, creating a diversion, as he had wanted.

_"Specs, hey, my time's over, okay? My awesome self has been fading for awhile, abd you know it, but I'm a soldier, always have been. I don't have time for your shitty politics anymore, and Russia... I still have a few things to settle with that idiot. I'll show him that the awesome me still has a few tricks up his sleeve. I'm not completely useless, despite what you think."_

In the aftermath of Prussia's sacrifice, he didn't know who had been more distraught: him or Germany. They hadn't had time to dwell on it, however, as almost immediately they had been thrust headlong into fortifying their defences, and Austria had felt a large stab of fear concerning this new war. The only thing preventing them from being surrounded on all sides was that Canada still stood fighting in North America, despite the opinions of many that the country known for its peacekeeping would not stand long against the stronger American army. Were it not for France and England, Austria knew America likely would have controlled the entirety of North America already. Poland, Hungary, Romania, Slovakia and Norway still stood as well, with aid from countries like Denmark and Bulgaria, with Turkey promising support from the south. Japan fought his occupation as well, and it gave Austria a small sense of relief to know that there were many others, unnamed, that fought alongside them.

He was careful not to betray the shaking of his insides as he placed the candelabrum on the wooden side table with a deceptively steady hand, turning his attention to the windows. With deft movements he moved towards the curtains, opening them, letting what little sliver of moonlight in that he could. It was then he realised that Liechtenstein was still there, and that she was watching him with a sad smile on her face, one that reflected in the dull green of her eyes.

For a moment the two just watched each other, and Austria felt frightfully young again, like he had in the early days of the Habsburg marriages between himself and Spain, before they had grown and matured in their own respective ways.

It was, unsurprisingly, Liechtenstein who broke the silence, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Austria reflected that she was already far more mature than he had ever been.

"I think my brother is grateful that you are here, Mister Austria," she said, and Austria struggled not to correct her, to say, _he would not care if he never saw me again_, as she continued, "and I think it will not be long before he comes to find you. And I… I am happy you are here, too. Brother means well, he truly does, but he is so withdrawn now, so stressed, and he will not let me help ease his worries. Maybe you can. "

Austria did not know how, not when Switzerland was just as happy never speaking to him, pretending the past didn't exist, but he did not voice it. Nor did he voice that Switzerland could have chosen a better ally, someone stronger like Germany, to propose an alliance with. No, Austria was, first and foremost, an aristocrat, so he did what any aristocrat would do and accepted her words with a small incline of his head, and a clipped word of gratitude. She smiled at him again, looking tired, before withdrawing, and leaving him once more to his thoughts.

In retrospect, they were blind to not have seen it coming. Though perhaps it was less blindness, and instead the purposeful turning of a blind eye that had lead to this, like it had lead to the rise of others so many years ago, in those years between 1930 and 2000 when the world seemed content to turn its back on everything until it was too late to act. That wasn't to say America was anything like the old German party, but the swelling of power had been so eerily similar, both ignored by those in other places, and America's fall had been slow, so slow that they hadn't even realised just how much he had fallen before it was too late. The transition from liberal to illiberal, from being innocent until proven guilty to being executed without trial simply because of a suspicion—all without the international community doing anything but clicking their tongues in disapproval, if even that. With that blind eye, that turning of cheek, America had turned away from the very rights he had once championed so strongly, while still insisting they were present; while still telling his people that they were Americans, that they would always be Americans, and how, for as long as he stood, their rights would always be assured.

Austria laughed bitterly at the thought. He had never known America well, but watching England's devastation had been enough, and hearing it from him in that heartbreaking tone had made even Austria, who had long since learned to shelter his heart, grieve for the little brother England had once raised and cherished and _loved_, despite the bad history between himself and the green-eyed Brit.

Irrefutable was the fact that this mess was all their faults. Apathy brought about death far quicker than action did, and it had been the people's apathy that had destroyed America, and many others, from the inside-out. The people championed, yes; they quoted their rights, they whinged, but when it came to acting, there had been nothing but silence. Democracy could not function against the people's apathy, and so it had crumbled from the inside, but subtly, so the people didn't know it was gone until they could do nothing.

And now look where that had brought them. The North American brothers, so similar and so different, warring against each other while the rest of them struggled to stand against the onslaught from the east.

His mouth thinning into a hard line, Austria turned his head back to the window, and to the sliver of a moon that he could barely see, covered by translucent clouds in the night sky. Somewhere out there Germany was hunched over his desk, where Austria would have once sat with him, Prussia lounging on the couch and cracking jokes to put them at ease as they struggled to see what they should have all seen already.

Maybe it had started with the vengeful slaughter of a mass murderer, but maybe it had been going on long before that, since the scars that had appeared over America's chest, unseen by all except those who happened a glimpse. They were not unlike the scars on his psyche, Austria thought sadly, as for all his bravado, America had still been very much a boy in comparison to many of them.

He did no good sitting there and lamenting, however. The blame was his as much as it was everyone else's, and he accepted it with the grace of the nobility before he removed the white jacket he had worn since earlier that day, leaving it hanging inside the ornate wardrobe before he left the room, adjusting the buttoned cuffs on his wrists as he did so.

The house was just as quiet as before, perhaps even more so, but for now it was a safe haven. There were no ghosts lurking in the shadows, no soldiers banging at the doors, and Austria did not even spare the windows a glance as he swept through, his expression a careful mask, and he did not know how long he walked before he realised he had become lost in the dark house.

"You… you really have not—you're lost."

Austria stilled instantly at the sound of Switzerland's voice, and though he did not turn, he acknowledged that he had heard with a faint sigh.

"Yes, well, are you surprised?" he queried, covering his embarrassment, glad that Switzerland could not see the faint red tinge to his face.

"What? No! Nothing you do surprises me," Switzerland replied, and the sharpness of his voice made Austria turn.

"I know you didn't want this," he said, the dark not allowing him to see Switzerland's expression. There was not enough natural light, not now. "I'm sorry, Switzerland."

"What are you apologising for? You didn't attack Canada, you didn't invade Finland, you didn't kill Prussia—what the hell do you have to be sorry for?" Switzerland's tone was defensive now, and Austria could imagine the red of his face; could picture him reaching up to brush an errant strand of blonde hair from his face. There was little doubt in Austria's mind that Switzerland had only proposed out of necessity—he had made it clear that any friendship between them was dead and buried. His protectiveness in the church was likely only due to the need to protect the newfound _alliance _they had, and Austria did not even allow himself to speculate on the kiss. It was a show, as everything else was, and as everything between them would be.

"Because I didn't see," Austria said mildly, and he was rewarded with silence from the other nation. The mention of Prussia pained him, but he didn't voice it. Doubtless Switzerland wouldn't care—he had never been secretive about his disdain for the red-eyed ex-nation. It had been present in every frown directed towards him, and in the way Austria had noticed his fingers clench when Prussia was around, hovering around Austria's person with a ready smile and subtle touches.

"None of us saw," Switzerland said at last, sounding more distant that time, but his tone changed very quickly to one of frustration. "Goddamnit, _none of us saw_, and now we're scrambling to keep ourselves together because of a delusional boy and a—a psychopath!"

Austria's eyes narrowed, and he sighed through his teeth. "This isn't my fault," he said. He could hear Switzerland moving, and within moments one of the old-fashioned oil lamps lining the halls was lit, and Switzerland was glaring at him, but it was a stiff expression, devoid of any true passion.

"Not everything is your fault."

"It seems it always is with you." It came out before he could stop himself, and he glanced away as a flush overtook his face, one born of both embarrassment and frustration.

Switzerland had the decency to blink and glance away, though there was now an unpleasant twist to his mouth.

"Why did you propose the alliance, Switzerland?" Austria asked, and there was tiredness in his voice this time; weariness in his face. Were he in a more normal frame of mind, perhaps he would have been shocked by his own question, as he had never been overly comfortable voicing such things, or otherwise stating his opinion.

"It was the smart thing to do," Switzerland answered, a sour twist to his mouth even as he shut his eyes, as if he were desperately trying to forget something. "Hungary can fend for herself for a little while longer, now that Romania and Poland are pulling their armies together, and should she need to fall back, now she'll have something to fall back too."

He bristled at the implication, but could not argue—he _was_ weak, and would be unable to support Hungary if she needed it, he who was too used to relying on Germany for everything. That was not an option anymore. Germany was already being stretched thin; he could not afford to lend aid to anyone not in dire need of it.

"I see," Austria said coolly, and for a moment he and Switzerland regarded each other, and Austria was quick enough to see something flicker briefly in Switzerland's eyes—irritation? Relief?—before the other nation's face fell into the same no-nonsense expression he had worn upon entering the house.

"Walk down the hallway, turn left, and go up the flight of stairs. Your room is the second on the right," he said tonelessly before turning and walking away, extinguishing the light as he did so, leaving Austria to follow his directions with cold precision.

Austria's thoughts were no less tumultuous as he lay in the bed Switzerland had provided, some fifteen minutes having passed, but he stilled them by thinking of melodies and harmonies; of the keening sorrow of a violin or the expressiveness of a pianoforte. He took comfort in the fact that he would be returning to his own lands the next day, in order to assist with the defence plans and further ready himself for a battles that were proving to be unavoidable, but the dark cloud that hung over them all was a constant companion to him as well, and it was a long time before he was able to let his thoughts drift, the image of Prussia, bloodied and proud in the defeat Austria had once craved, the last thing his mind allowed him to see before sleep took him at last.


End file.
